Not Tarzan
by RomansRoad
Summary: Because some of us just weren't born to swing on vines-or ropes.


"Do it."

"No."

"C'mon. Just once."

"It doesn't even look sturdy."

"We've been using it for a good half hour and only had to retie it once."

"That's reassuring."

"Isn't it?"

"No."

"Just once. Then we'll leave you alone. You can go back to your book."

John glared at his two youngest brothers. He, Gordon, and Alan were on the mainland for a day, enjoying a bit of rest while Scott, Virgil, and Jeff manned the island. John was due back up in Thunderbird Five after Brains returned from updating some of Five's communication equipment. The genius had insisted he and Tin-Tin go on their own, and the Tracys have a few days to themselves.

After much assertion, John had convinced Scott and Virgil that he would be fine keeping an eye on Gordon and Alan for the day. Now, he realized what an idiot he'd been.

"John, it's really not that hard." Gordon tugged on John's arm in an attempt to get him off his seat in the grass.

John cast a critical eye on the object of Alan and Gordon's fascination. The old rope was tied on a high branch in a tree, and dangled some ten feet off the ground. They had found it while exploring the banks of a slow-moving river. You had to climb a ladder to reach the rope, jump from the ladder and hang on until you were over the water, and then let go and drop into the watery depths.

The Terrible Two insisted it was the "funnest—" "That's not a word, Gordon," "_most fun _thing they'd ever done."

Sighing, John marked the page in his book and got to his feet, pulling off his shirt as he did so. He put his hands behind his head and stretched, successfully cracking his back and loosening cramped muscles. Despite what Scott and Virgil said about "more rescues building the body," John was in rather decent condition, if he did say so himself.

"All right, guys. What do you want me to do?"

"Okay." Gordon bounced on his toes, grinning like a maniac now that his older brother was going to try the rope swing. "Climb up the ladder and grab on to the rope just above the knot we made."

John clambered up the homemade ladder, noting the rusty nails that held it together. He straightened cautiously at the top, holding the rope tightly in his left hand.

Firmly gripping the worn rope in both hands, John leaned back and prepared to lift his feet from the wood…

"Lean to the left a bit."

"What?"

Alan gave John a look and repeated, "Lean to the left. Otherwise you'll hit the tree."

"Wonderful," the astronaut muttered, shifting his weight more toward the directed side. "This better?"

"Yeah," Alan ran a cursory glance up the rope and out across the water. "Now go."

John shot one last look at his surroundings—_lest this be my last glimpse of Earth_—and swung out from the ladder.

The next sensation he felt was one of his knees colliding with the unforgiving rocky soil.

He was aware that he was tumbling downhill and that his skin was striking more sharp objects, before at last he felt water lapping around his body.

Sitting up so that his face was clear of the water, John blinked dazedly. He rolled his neck slowly and turned to fix a scowl on Gordon and Alan.

Gordon grinned apologetically. "Make that twice in the last half hour that we've had to retie it."

The rope lay strewn about the rocky slope that led from the ladder down to the water's edge. A frayed end was up by the ladder.

John shook his head in mock despair and immediately wished that he hadn't. The world around him swirled in a mass of colors as a nauseous feeling bubbled in his stomach.

"John?"

Pressing a hand against his abdomen, John scrunched his eyes shut until the dizziness receded, and then focused on the owner of the voice.

"Gordon Tracy, you are so dead."

Gordon snickered. "It won't be you doing the killing, though. I'll be surprised if you can even walk, let alone send me to my early grave."

"What do you mean?"

John couldn't see through the murky river water, so he rose shakily—"Easy, " Alan cautioned—to his feet.

"Whoa."

_I couldn't have put it better myself._ John studied his body, taking in all of his injuries. His knees and shins were torn up, blood trickling down and tinting the water red. He forearms and left shoulder were also dripping blood, along with some scrapes on his palms. A swipe of his hand across his forehead told of a scratch there as well. The dizziness and sudden exhaustion meant he probably had a concussion, but only a minor one. The general appearance of someone who had just survived a horrific car crash explained the worried expressions written on Gordon and Alan's faces.

"Any broken bones?" Gordon asked.

"Not that I can feel," John replied, slightly stunned by the fact.

"Right," Gordon said, suddenly switching to his IR persona. "Alan, help me carry him up to where we left our shirts."

"I can walk—" John began, but was cut short.

"No. No walking unless it's an absolute must. You take his legs, Alan, and be careful."

As he was lifted by his two brothers, John had only one thought pass through his mind: _It's probably good that shock means I can't feel most of these scrapes. _For the simplicity of the thought, it sure took a lot of effort to produce.

"Set him down here," Gordon directed, motioning towards here John had been reading earlier.

The grass sure was nice and comfortable. It would be nice to take a long nap right here…

A blast of cold water assaulted his head. "No sleeping," Gordon said, and he squeezed more water out of his shorts on to John's face.

"Fortunately, we're only about a mile away from the hangar where we left the jet, so it shouldn't be ridiculously hard to get back there and fly home." Gordon yanked his shirt on as he spoke.

"Can you sit up for a second?" Alan asked softly while Gordon walked around and swept their things into a backpack they'd brought with.

John did so, gritting his teeth against the churning in his stomach. Alan helped him put his shirt back on, using gentler hands than John would have believed possible for the kid. He was probably a little off after watching his big brother wipe out. That was an entertaining thought for some reason. Yep, he was concussed.

"Oh good, he's clothed," Gordon said, cinching the backpack straps tight on his shoulders. "Let's go."

They made progress for about five minutes when Gordon shouted, "Wait!" He disappeared through the trees as he ran back to the rope swing.

Ten minutes later, he came back, panting slightly. "I forgot something." He hooked his hands under John's armpits and they resumed their slow progress.

While they never let him fall asleep, John drifted in and out of awareness, sometimes catching Gordon and Alan's conversation, but mostly focusing on quelling the urge to throw up.

They reached the jet in a decent amount of time, and it wasn't long before Alan—Gordon might be able to pilot their machines, but that didn't make him a stellar pilot—had them in the sky and was setting course for their island home.

Gordon sat on the floor beside where they had laid John across the back row of seats. He dabbed gently at his elder brother's bloodstained legs with a wet towel, always keeping half of his focus on the grimaces John made and adjusting the pressure he was applying accordingly.

"Almost home, Johnny."

John laughed. "I'm not sure if that's good or bad."

Gordon's lips quirked up in a knowing smile. "Our dear field commander and medical expert will be glad to see you."

John made a swing at Gordon's head, which was easily ducked and promptly laughed at.

Alan landed the jet a few minutes later and stored her properly in one of the hidden hangars. He walked to the back of the plane to help Gordon lift John into the chute that would take them to the house, where their other brothers and father currently sat in happy ignorance.

John had his two younger siblings help him into a standing position in the chute, so at least he wouldn't appear totally comatose when the more ill-humored members of their family laid eyes on him.

The door slid open after a rapid rise to the house, and John leaned heavily on Gordon while Alan went to tell everyone that they were home.

"Where's John and Gordon?" Scott's voice carried through the house like no one else's.

"Coming," Alan answered quietly.

John gave Gordon a brilliantly crazed grin and received one in return. They stepped around the corner of the hallway and into full view of Scott and Virgil. Jeff was nowhere to be seen.

"John!" Virgil leaped to his feet and seized John from Gordon. "Sit down already."

Scott was studying John appraisingly from where the eldest sat with his feet up on the coffee table. His eyes raked John's form, clearly taking inventory of every injury John had collected on his spill. He watched silently as Virgil forced John into a seat and checked the astronaut over. Eventually, Scott spoke.

"What the heck, Johnny?"

Gordon burst into full-blown laughter. "John's not Tarzan!"

Scott rolled his eyes and returned to reading his magazine. "Tell me when you're finished with him, Virgil."

Virgil nodded and then frowned at John. "You're a mess."

"A bloody mess, as the Brits would say."

"Hilarious, Gordon. Help me get him down to the infirmary."

Still giggling to himself, Gordon did as he was told, telling the story of John's failed attempt at rope swinging as they made their way to the infirmary.

Once there, Gordon waved cheerily at John and left.

John gazed at Virgil from where he lay on one of the beds, who was rattling cabinets as he found gauze, peroxide, and whatever else he felt the need to pull out.

The medic cleaned up John's various wounds, and was just finishing with the one on his head when he paused and shot a sly glance at his older brother.

"You seriously fell off a rope swing?"

"It broke!"

Virgil looked like he was about to make a smart remark, but then bit his lip and cracked half a smile.

John groaned. "You might as well say it."

Virgil pressed once more on the bandage on John's forehead. "I guess all those weeks in space haven't made you a lightweight after all."

Another swing, another duck, another laugh at the miss.

"Careful, wouldn't want to go damaging that arm anymore," Virgil said, still seeming very much amused. "And seriously, take it easy. It's a minor concussion, but you don't need to go aggravating it. I'm going to go get Scott."

Virgil vanished out the door.

John shut his eyes and leaned back against the pillows, but quickly opened them again when he felt a presence sink down beside him on the bed.

"We'll make Tarzan proud yet."

"And how do you propose we do that, little brother?"

Gordon half-closed his eyes. "We'll go back to the rope."

"Uh-huh. It's probably washed away by now."

"Unless someone tied it back up."

"No one's tied it back—so _that's _what you forgot." John ruffled Gordon's hair affectionately. "Smooth move, dude."

"Up for Round Two?"

"Count me in."

* * *

><p><em>AN: This is partially based on something that happened a couple weeks ago...except for someone accidently let go instead of the rope breaking. Just remember, just because Tarzan can, doesn't mean you can. But my legs and arms are almost healed now!_

_My readers from the UK-I hope my "bloody mess" comment doesn't offend anyone! Sorry if it does and I will change it if anyone has a problem with it._


End file.
